


Have Kite, Will Soar

by thefrankydoyles



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-07 12:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11623905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefrankydoyles/pseuds/thefrankydoyles
Summary: Franky Doyle really likes jewelry, and one necklace in particular: a short Fridget series detailing five times in which Franky's kite necklace made an important appearance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is chapter one of a five chaptered series; the series will time-jump but span chronologically, from season 3 all the way to post-season 5. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy, comments always appreciated!

_ She's been in and out, but the doctor says everything is looking good. There's some residual smoke in her lungs, but that's to be expected of course. She'll be okay, Bridget.  _ __  
  
Franky's ears twitched slightly at the mention of Bridget's name. She thought the voice sounded like it belonged to Mr. J, but it was so fucking far away. Why was he so far away? And why couldn't she fucking open her eyes?    
  
She had to be dreaming. But what a weird fuckin' dream; usually when her subconscious inevitably drifted to Gidget, Will Jackson was certainly nowhere to be found. Kind of a boner killer.    
  
But then her mind emerged a bit from the fog, and she registered the steady beeping of the monitor, and the cold slab of steel digging into her wrist.    
  
And her chest felt like it had shrunk ten times its usual size and her lungs couldn't seem to get enough goddamn air.    
  
Franky's eyes flew open as she heaved and hacked up what little of her lungs were left.    
  
When she finally caught her breath and came to, eyeing her sterile, blank surroundings, it all came rushing back to her.    
  
The fire. Bea. Doreen's baby. Fucking Ferguson.    
  
"Hey there, Franky."    
  
Eyes wide, Franky jolted towards the sound of the familiar voice that had just rudely invaded her dream of Gidget.    
  
"It's okay, Franky. You're okay. You're in hospital, you inhaled a lot of smoke and passed out during the fire," Will explained hurriedly as he approached the foot of the bed.    
  
Franky's eyes softened as she rapidly exhaled and leaned her head back on the overstuffed hospital pillow. She tried to bring her right hand up to her face but was met with a shake of resistance from the chain around her wrist.    
  
_ Oh, right _ .    
  
"I'm going to see about getting those off, Franky."    
  
Franky winced and shook her head.    
  
"I wouldn't blame ya if you wanted to keep me chained to this bed for the rest of my life."    
  
Franky barely recognized her hoarse voice, and only just got the sentence out before her lungs protested again and she wheezed and coughed, gasping for air.    
  
Will passed Franky the cup of water that was resting on her bedside table, which she gratefully took and gulped down.    
  
"Thanks," Franky mumbled, averting her eyes.    
  
Franky knew Will was a decent guy, probably one of the best to ever walk the halls of that shithole, but she couldn't help but wonder whether the poor guy bumped his head during the fire and completely forgot that the prisoner he just handed a glass of water to murdered his wife.    
  
Will took the cup back from Franky and refilled her glass before returning it to the table.    
  
"Not that I'm supposed to condone inmates going rogue, but uh, you did good, Franky. You and Smith saved that little boy's life."    
  
Franky shifted uncomfortably in the bed, desperately wishing to be anywhere but there. Maybe she really did die in the fire and she was actually in hell. Yep, she was in hell, doomed to an eternity chained to a rock-hard bed, forever being praised for taking one innocent life and saving another.    
  
Fucking figured.    
  
Hell or not, Franky quickly changed the subject.    
  
"Bea's okay? What happened to the Freak?"    
  
Will nodded and took a deep breath.    
  
"Smith's fine. She was examined and given the all-clear. Ferguson.."   
  
Will paused, shaking his head, lips and eyes turned slightly upward as if in amused disbelief.    
  
"She's in custody."    
  
Franky rose her eyebrows and clicked her tongue, crossing her arms over her chest.    
  
Maybe this wasn't hell after all.    
  
"Hey uh, is there anyone you want contacted?" Will asked tentatively, as if he already knew the answer, but thought he should ask anyway.    
  
_ Yes _ , Franky desperately wanted to say.    
  
_ Yeah, there is someone. Does she know about the fire? Is she worried about me? Can you call and tell her I'm okay?  _ __  
__  
Instead, Franky pursed her lips and shook her head.    
  
"Nuh."   
  
Will nodded.    
  
"Okay, I'll go grab the doc. Hang tight, Doyle," Will said as he made his way to the door.    
  
Franky just smirked. As if she could fucking go anywhere.   
  
"Oh, by the way, Bridget Westfall stopped by," Will added.    
  
"She dropped off some papers for your parole. And she told me to tell you she's glad you're okay."    
  
"Cool, thanks," Franky replied nonchalantly, and just prayed that the heart monitor she was hooked up to didn't give away her sudden rising pulse.    
  
Will retrieved an oversized envelope from his back pocket and handed it to Franky before exiting the room.    
  
When the door clicked shut, Franky leaned her head back and let out an audible sigh of raspberries.    
  
It wasn't a dream. Gidge had really been here. To check on her. To see if she were okay.    
  
_ Oh, Gidget.  _ __  
__  
Franky cursed herself for not waking the fuck up earlier.    
  
When she finally looked down at the envelope that had previously been clutched to her chest, she recognized Bridget's loopy scrawl.    
  
It just said "Franky".    
  
Franky's heart inadvertently skipped a beat as she unsealed the top of the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers.    
  
Mr. Jackson was right- copies of her parole information, mostly. A list of her possessions, the degree certification she earned while at Wentworth, her assigned residence.    
  
The last in the stack detailed the time and date of her release. It was only four days away; Franky couldn't fucking believe it. In fact, she wouldn't truly believe it until she was actually walking through those gates in her own fucking clothes, sans handcuffs.    
  
All of the information was mostly typed out, but on the bottom right corner of that last page, Franky recognized Bridget's handwriting again.    
  
_ (Turn over)  _ __  
  
Franky quickly did as the paper instructed, and her mouth dropped the slightest as she flipped the page.    
  
There, taped to the center of the paper, was a small silver pendant in the shape of a kite, with a piece of red string woven in and dangling from the bottom.    
  
Franky reached out and lightly fingered the piece of jewelry through the clear tape, and thought it was the most beautiful fuckin' thing she ever saw.    
  
No wonder the papers seemed so unusually goddamn heavy.    
  
When she finally managed to tear her eyes away from the pendant, she read the words scrawled next to it.    
  
_ Franky,  _ __  
__  
_ Congratulations, I’m so proud of you. Saw this and thought of you. You're going to soar.  _ __  
__  
_ -G _ __  
__  
_ P.S- I hope the way you walk out of those gates on Thursday is exactly as you pictured.  _ __  
  
Franky must have read Bridget's words five times over before she believed what she was actually reading.    
  
Bridget was proud of her. She got her a present. (That she fucking taped to her parole papers, that sly dog!)    
  
She thought Franky was going to soar.    
  
Franky blinked away the water that had suddenly pooled in her eyes before moving her attention to the last part of the note.    
  
_ I hope the way you walk out of those gates on Thursday is exactly as you pictured.  _ __  
  
Exactly as Franky pictured? Franky remembered what she had said to Bridget months ago.    
  
Hot girl, hot car, sunset.    
  
Was Bridget planning on picking her up when she released? No, she couldn't be. Could she?    
  
Franky shook her head and placed her thumb atop the pendant again before forcing herself to put the papers back into the envelope.    
  
Where was this damn doctor anyway?    
  
She realized she didn't care. She was going to be fine. She was actually leaving this hellhole in four days! She was going to be free.    
  
She would see Bridget again, she knew it.    
  
She had so much fucking hope.    
  
And, she knew with certainty now, that she was definitely not in hell.    



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post 3x12; Franky leaves Wentworth behind with a hot girl in a hot car, and the symbol of her freedom tethered to her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for your reviews and kudos, enjoy! (fair warning- post s3 smut ensues ;)

Franky felt a shiver run down her spine as Bridget swiped her tongue gently along Franky's top lip.

Franky groaned as she reached down to cup Bridget's denim-clad arse. Her left arm stayed wrapped around Bridget's slender waist as her fingers dipped just under her T-shirt, drawing slow, featherlight circles on Bridget's hip.

Bridget sighed into her mouth and slung her arms around Franky's neck.   
  
_Fucking Hell, was this heaven?_ _  
_   
Heaven on earth, right here, in Bridget Westfall's bedroom.

The women must have stumbled into the bedroom over twenty minutes ago, but they were still standing just mere inches inside the door, fully clothed.   
  
When was the last time Franky kissed someone for this long? She didn't remember. She wasn't sure if she ever had, at least not without any ulterior motive.

But she was so fucking lost in this woman, she couldn't think straight. She didn't even care if this was all they did for the entire night.   
  
In fact, Franky thought she just might be able to spend the rest of her fucking life kissing Bridget Westfall.   
  
But then Bridget finally, gently, began to guide her backwards, until the tops of Franky's bare heels hit the foot of the bed.   
  
"You're sure, right? We don't have to do this yet, Franky," Bridget breathed along the crook of her neck.   
  
Franky smiled and nodded against the crown of Bridget's soft golden hair, adding a buoyant "fuck, yes" for good measure, just in case she hadn't gotten the hint by now.   
  
Franky knew what Bridget was asking.   
  
This wasn't a one-off, this wasn't a game.   
  
This wasn't just a quick fuck to get out of their systems.   
  
But Franky already knew that, of course. Franky knew it two weeks ago, the moment she saw the emotion flash across those blue eyes when she asked Bridget if she were in love with her.   
  
Not to mention, Bridget had told her as much a mere couple of hours ago, before they had even made it into the house, before they even got out of the car.   
  
"When you asked me in the kitchen at Wentworth, if I just wanted to fuck you.. I.. I don't, Franky. It's not just about that and I need you to know that, to understand that," Bridget spoke softly and calmly, but her eyes had searched Franky's frantically and her bottom lip had twitched just the slightest before she bit down on it.   
  
Franky's response had been to take Bridget's hand, which had still been gripping the steering wheel even though the car was in park, and to thread her own fingers with Bridget's before bringing them to her mouth.   
  
"I know."   
  
Franky hoped that those two words were enough to make Bridget understand that she felt the same, and somehow Gidge did understand, and thank fuck for that because Franky wasn't sure if she could vocalize it any other way. She didn't know how.   
  
Cliché or not, she had never fucking felt like this before.   
  
She was scared shitless, to be honest. Four days ago she had almost died in a fire, in the place she had been chained to for the last three years of her life. And now she was sitting in a hot car, with a hot girl, in front of a gorgeous, spacious home.   
  
_What the fuck?_   
  
Franky thought they'd have jumped each other’s bones as soon as they made it past the threshold of the front door, but they didn't. Instead, Bridget had simply taken Franky's hand and led her towards the kitchen, asking if she were hungry.   
  
Franky couldn't hold back the giant grin that spread across every single one of her features.   
  
_So fucking normal._ _  
_ _  
_ "I'm starving for anything that isn't Wentworth's special of the day. Even I couldn't make that shit edible, Gidge."   
  
Bridget had shaken her head and cast her head downwards as she held a tight-lipped, knowing smile.   
  
"I think we can manage that."   
  
They did manage that, as Franky soon discovered that Bridget must have recently stocked her fridge with every single kind of meat, vegetable, and fruit available on the entire fucking coast.   
  
"Were you expecting company, Gidget?" Franky had asked coyly, amusement plastered all over her raised eyebrows and open-mouthed smirk.   
  
At some point after savoring her first bites of real food in three years, Franky repeated her request that she made to Bridget all those months ago.   
  
"So do I get that dirt now?"   
  
"Ask me anything."   
  
Franky reveled in finally getting to know bits and pieces of Bridget that she never could while in Wentworth. It wasn't so much the big stuff, like that Bridget was loyal, and strong, and the best in her field, and the kind of person willing to go against the crowd when no one else would. All of that Franky already knew. What she longed to know about Bridget, what she dreamed and wondered about for months, were the tiny, minute details. The details that honestly, she never really cared to learn about anyone else.

She was a yoga fiend and a wine connoisseur. Her parents were still married forty years later (what the fuck was that like?).  She was a straight A student back in the day. (That one Franky had pinpointed a mile away). She was allergic to pineapple. She spent two years in New York while earning her masters of Forensic Psychology at Columbia University. She had a couple of really good friends from high school that she still kept in touch with. She hated to cook (Franky would have fun with that one). She once dated a guy in her twenties who proposed to her, and it was only then she consciously realized that she couldn't and wouldn't spend the rest of her life with a man.

Her first time with a woman was during her second year at uni on a weekend trip to Sydney.

Franky couldn't get enough; she hung on every fuckin' word out of Bridget's mouth. 

And now, standing at the foot of Bridget's bed, she just couldn't get enough of _her_ . Her kisses, the feeling of Bridget's soft body pressed against hers. The way she hummed contently as Franky's tongue sought entrance in her mouth.   
  
Franky deepened the kiss and placed her hand back on Bridget's waist, her fingers inching higher under Bridget's white t-shirt with every passing second.   
  
Bridget shivered underneath the touch before pulling her lips away from Franky's.   
  
"Take it off," she breathed.   
  
Franky sighed at Bridget's words and grabbed the hem of the t-shirt, pulling it up over Bridget's head and tossing it on the floor.   
  
Fuck, she was gorgeous.   
  
A sheer white bra with lace trim covered Bridget's breasts, and Franky quickly spotted the spattering of dark freckles that lightly lined her stomach and ribs.   
  
Franky quickly wrapped an arm around the small of Bridget's back, flipping them so that Bridget was now standing against the bed. Franky took hold of Bridget's face and placed a searing kiss on her lips, eliciting the most gorgeous moan; she gently pushed her body into Bridget's, encouraging her to lie back on the bed. Franky followed suite and held the kiss as they fell onto the mattress.   
  
Franky couldn't help it and trailed open-mouthed kisses down Bridget's exposed chest and stomach.   
  
Fuck, she really loved these freckles.   
  
Before she knew it, Franky lips had reached the top of Bridget's jeans, and she was on such autopilot that she wasted no time in tugging on the top button and unzipping the garment.   
  
Franky wasn't used to any of these feelings- these pulse pounding, heart flipping sensations. She was used to sex providing a reprieve from her emotions, not adding to them. But even if she wasn't familiar with the feelings, even if they scared the shit out of her, she certainly was familiar with the actions.   
  
"Franky, wait."   
  
Franky immediately stilled her hands along the waistband of Bridget's jeans and looked up, searching the blonde's eyes for any sign of hesitation.   
  
What she found there was the opposite, but before she had any time to inquire, Bridget pushed off the bed with her elbow, effectively flipping them over so she was completely on top of Franky.   
  
"I think you're a bit overdressed, hmm darling?" Bridget sang with a playful wag of her eyebrow.   
  
Franky's heart flipped again and she couldn't tell if it was due to Bridget's choice of pet name or just pure fuckin’ nerves.   
  
Franky previously lived by the rule that she never let her sexual partners take absolute control, but fuck if there wasn't something about being under Bridget Westfall. And It wasn't just about the physicality, of which she noted was definitely present, as she felt a surge of wetness coat her underwear.   
  
She also felt safe.   
  
Bridget reached for the hem of Franky's black graphic t-shirt, and she briefly wondered if Bridget knew about all of the scars on her body that she had never seen.

No, she didn't. How the fuck could she?

Bridget kissed down the length of Franky's neck and sighed, bringing her hand up to cup Franky's breast overtop her shirt.   
  
Franky felt another twinge in her core, and wondered how long she was going to last.   
  
Bridget toyed with the hem of Franky's shirt before husking out a "may I?" against Franky's neck.   
  
Franky couldn't find the words, just nodded against her lover as the t-shirt was whisked over her head, exposing her plain navy blue bra.   
  
(The days of neon amped bravado were tossed out with the rest of her old prison attire.)   
  
Without batting an eye, Bridget brought her head to the top of Franky's full breasts, kissing them while tracing her cherry blossom tattoo all the way up her ribcage.   
  
Bridget sighed against Franky's breast.   
  
"You're beautiful."   
  
Franky didn't respond, just shook her head gently before bringing Bridget's lips to her own in a searing kiss.   
  
She wished that her heart and pulse would stop doing these fucking backflips.   
  
The thing was, Franky never gave a single fuck about someone else thought of her body. But this felt so goddamn different.   
  
Bridget moved down to unzip Franky's jeans, and Franky let her, mostly because her primal need to feel Bridget's hands on her body outweighed anything else.

Before she knew it, Franky was sprawled on the bed, wearing only her underwear and bra. She knew the burn scars that covered the inside of her thighs, the only ones that she hadn't tattooed over, were fully exposed.   
  
Why was it so fucking bright in this room anyway?   
  
Franky instinctively sat up and flipped them back over, so she was fully on top of Bridget's body.   
  
Bridget smiled up at her, the kind of smile that was so fucking trusting, that said " _okay, take me_ ."   
  
Franky had dreamed about this so many times.   
  
And it was real now, it was fucking real.   
  
Franky swiftly removed Bridget's jeans to discover a matching white lace thong that barely covered her center, and she was fucking lucky she didn't combust right then and there.   
  
Franky leaned her face into the crook of Bridget's thigh, eliciting a groan from above.   
  
"Fuck, Gidge, what are you doing to me?" Franky asked as she traced the outline of the offending garment.   
  
"I knew you were a thong girl, by the way."   
  
Bridget let out a throaty chuckle.   
  
"Oh did you?"   
  
Franky kissed the outline of Bridget's underwear before making her way to the center of the article, groaning at the wet spot she was met with as her mouth made contact.   
  
"Oh, Franky," Bridget shut her eyes and moaned her name.   
  
It was the most fucking gorgeous sound Franky had ever heard and all she knew was that she never wanted to stop hearing it.   
  
Franky locked her eyes with Bridget's, silently asking permission to remove her underwear.   
  
Bridget nodded and Franky hooked her fingers in the sides and slid them down Bridget's legs.   
  
"Oh fuck, Gidge."   
  
Bridget's gorgeous folds were completely exposed, swollen and glistening, and Franky couldn't wait anymore and swiped her tongue along Bridget's outer lips.   
  
The women groaned simultaneously as Franky reached up and locked fingers with Bridget's hand.   
  
Franky swirled her tongue in and out of Bridget, each swipe drawing out another pool of wetness and a louder whimper from above.   
  
"Franky, fucking hell, I don't think I'm going to last, OH."   
  
Franky took that as encouragement and placed a single finger at the tip of Bridget's now soaked entrance.   
  
"Yes, Franky," Bridget breathed and Franky pushed her finger in just far enough to be able to curl against Bridget's front wall.   
  
Bridget screamed out as Franky lapped at her swollen clit and pressed against the tender wall, and before she knew it, Bridget thighs clamped around her tongue and finger and she screamed out, a trickle of wetness gushing from her opening onto Franky's finger.   
  
Franky rode her tongue and finger through Bridget's orgasm until she felt Bridget's muscles go slack. She thought she heard a small mewing sound from above.   
  
Franky raised her face from Bridget's core but left her finger buried inside, enjoying the feeling of Bridget's walls pulsing around her way too much.   
Eventually, Franky placed a light kiss on Bridget's swollen folds and extracted her finger slowly, eliciting a groan from above.   
  
Franky crawled back up the bed and on top of Bridget, and the sight of a post-orgasmic Gidget was too fuckin' much to bear; her pupils were dilated under hazy eyelids, her chest was flushed and rising, her nipples hard and straining against the lace they were still covered in.   
  
Franky wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. How she was the most beautiful thing she ever laid eyes on, and that she wanted to stay right here, in this bed, with her forever.   
  
But there was suddenly a lump in her throat and the words got stuck, so instead Franky leaned down and placed a tender kiss on Bridget's parted lips.   
  
"Hi," Bridget whispered, smiling when the kiss finally broke.   
  
Franky cursed herself for only barely being able to return the greeting in a whisper; she wasn't used to being at a loss for words.

Before she had time to dwell, Bridget flipped them over and straddled Franky so that she was sitting on top of Franky's partially opened thighs.   
  
"Oh fuck," Franky breathed as she felt Bridget's wet center graze along her bare leg.   
  
Bridget didn't say anything, just looked down at Franky and held her eyes and smiled at her like she was a fucking gift from god.   
  
It was too intense, and Franky suddenly felt too naked, and so she reached up and clasped at her her necklace, her fingers fidgeting with the red string dangling from her kite pendant.   
  
Bridget smiled, her eyes shifting to the silver gleam of the kite. And then she sighed, laying her head in the crook of Franky's neck before kissing the sensitive skin.   
  
"You're so beautiful, Franky."   
  
Franky still couldn't find her words, the lump in her throat still just as present. She absentmindedly wondered if anyone had ever called her beautiful before. Not that like that, at least- the way that Gidget just did, with such raw emotion, and no double meaning behind the sentiment. A way that truly made Franky believe that Bridget meant it.   
  
She really thought Franky was beautiful.   
  
Bridget began to trail kisses along Franky's collarbone and down her chest before reaching under to undo Franky's bra clasp.   
  
Bridget flung the dark bra to the side of the bed before unhooking her own bra and tossing it in the same direction.   
  
With Bridget completely naked, Franky gulped and finally found enough air in her lungs to utter a soft "you're so fucking gorgeous" from her lips.   
  
Bridget smiled and Franky swore she saw the beginnings of a rosy blush creeping up her neck, but before she could investigate further, Bridget leaned down and took a hardened nipple into her mouth, her hand reaching up to cup the other breast.   
  
"Ungh," Franky groaned as she threaded her hands through Bridget's hair, trying to bring her as close as possible.

Franky didn't even recognize her own voice, all she knew was that Bridget's mouth felt fucking incredible and she needed more. 

Bridget eventually released Franky's nipple with an audible popping sound before trailing her mouth further south, stopping to place light kisses along the branches of Franky's cherry blossom tattoo.   
  
Bridget groaned as she reached the waistband of Franky's underwear.   
  
"Gidge, you don't have to."   
  
For as much as Franky loved sex, it was a rare case for her to be on the receiving end. She hated losing control.   
  
Bridget immediately stilled her hands and crawled halfway back up Franky's body, reaching to link their fingers together.   
  
"You're right, I don't. We don't have to do anything that you don't want to."   
  
Jesus, this woman could read her like a book.   
Franky bit down on her lip and shook her head.   
  
"I do want you to," Franky breathed, inhaling deeply before uttering a stronger "I want you."   
  
Bridget kissed her as her hands trailed back down to the waistband of Franky's underwear. She moved her mouth to Franky's neck as her fingers slipped just below the band, where they stilled for a second before inching downward to rest along Franky's outer lips.   
  
Franky threw her head back against the overstuffed pillow.   
  
"Is this okay?” Bridget asked against the crook of her neck.   
  
It was all Franky could do to get out a single word of affirmation.

"Franky, fuck, you feel amazing."   
  
Bridget parted Franky's outer folds beneath the fabric and began tracing light circles around her clit. Franky couldn't hold back and moaned, throwing her hand up above her head.   
  
"Tell me what you want, beautiful."   
  
Bridget was clearly vocal in bed, and that shouldn't have surprised Franky one bit; Gidge was the poster woman for good communication. But this certainly wasn't Franky's forte. She was used to using sex as a distraction. A distraction from all the fucking noise around her. She used sex as a way to get lost.   
  
But the only thing she wanted to get lost in right now was Bridget. She wanted to get lost in her body and her words and noises and all those fucking amazing sounds she just heard.   
  
So Franky uttered the only answer she could think of.   
  
"Just you."   
  
Brides smiled against Franky's neck.   
  
"Okay."   
  
Bridget finally removed the last barrier between them, and moved back down the bed so that her face was aligned with Franky's core.   
  
Bridget parted her again, this time bringing her tongue to lick around Franky's swollen clit. She lapped at the wetness seeping from Franky's opening and painted it through her folds finally stopping to latch onto the protruding bud.   
  
Franky whimpered above, her eyes still shut, because these sensations were fucking too much and she thought she was going to explode right then and there. And since when did Franky Doyle whimper?   
  
Bridget reached up to rub the pad of her thumb along Franky's hardened nipple before releasing her clit. She edged the inside of Franky's knee upwards, so that she was fully spread out and open before her. Bridget placed her tongue against the slit of Franky's opening and gently pushed, so that the tip just barely entered her.   
  
"Oh fuck," Franky moaned, her breathing becoming more labored by the second.   
  
Bridget drew her tongue out and then back inside again, this time further as she brought her hand back down from Franky's breast to her clit, the pad of her thumb resting lightly on top of the bud.   
  
"Oh fuck Gidge I'm gonna come, I- OH"   
  
Bridget pressed her thumb down and rubbed Franky's clit in slow circles as she continued to thrust her tongue in and out of her.   
  
Franky moaned and raised her hips off the bed before she called out again and felt the familiar building deep within her abdomen. Her vaginal walls clenched down on Bridget's tongue as she came, hard, unable to stop the slew of profanities and unintelligible sounds coming from her mouth.   
  
When Franky came down from her high, Bridget lapped at her core one more time before kissing the insides of her thighs and climbing back up the bed.   
  
Bridget pulled the covers up with her that had somehow gotten knocked completely to the floor in a heap, and laid down, taking Franky in her arms. She kissed Franky's cheek and hummed, and Franky reached to link her hand again with Bridget's.   
  
For a second, Franky wondered if this is what love felt like.   
  
Not the actual sex, maybe, but this, right now. This primal need to be closer to this woman, even though she was fully wrapped in Bridget's arms probably as tight as Bridget could possibly hold her.   
  
Franky still didn't think she was close enough.   
  
Bridget was the first to break the silence.   
  
"Wow."   
  
Franky smiled against Bridget's shoulder, "I know, fuck."   
  
The women stayed mostly silent, their touches and kisses saying more than any words probably could in that moment.   
  
Bridget eventually turned her head upward atop Franky's breast, eyeing the silver kite resting against her olive skin.   
  
"So, you're sure you like it?" Bridget asked softly as she lightly traced her finger over the pendant.   
  
Franky cast her eyes downward.   
  
"Are you fuckin' kidding? I don't wanna take it off!"   
  
Bridget chuckled lightly before Franky reached down and tilted Bridget's chin up.   
  
"It's beautiful, thank you."   
  
Bridget hummed as Franky brought their lips together.   
  
Franky let the silence fall over them again before speaking.   
  
"I, uh. I used to fly kites at the beach with my dad. Before he left."   
  
Franky paused and exhaled, feeling a gentle squeeze of Bridget's hand along her waist giving her to courage to continue.   
  
"I just loved how fucking high they would go, you know? And sometimes, it would be so windy, like when a storm was about to blow in, and I always thought for sure they would come crashing down. But they always stayed up there for so long."   
  
Franky turned her head back into Bridget's shoulder and sighed, pulling her closer.   
  
"So free," she mumbled so softly she didn't even know if Bridget heard her.   
  
Bridget leaned into Franky to kiss her bare skin, first her cheek, and then her lips.   
  
"You're free, Franky. You're free.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mid Season 4; Franky is anxious about spending the day alone with her little sister, until Bridget gives her an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some s4 fluff before the s5 storm ;)

_Where the fuck was the damn sauce?_   
  
Franky opened and shut the small kitchen cabinet before doing the same to the fridge.   
  
She slammed the fridge shut and huffed, dropping her arms against her sides in exasperation.   
  
Bridget peered up at her from her spot at the kitchen table as she stilled her fingers on her laptop keys.   
  
"Franky?"   
  
"I can't find the fucking sauce I put away for dinner tonight," Franky answered hurriedly as she opened the pantry.   
  
"Franky."   
  
"What?" Franky snapped, finally spinning around to face Bridget.   
  
Bridget cocked her head in a knowing gaze, raising her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth just slightly.   
  
Franky heaved a sigh and bit the inside of her lip.   
  
"Sorry," she said, her eyes softening.   
  
Bridget shut her laptop and made her way to Franky before opening up her arms and pulling Franky against her.   
  
Franky immediately relaxed as she wrapped her arms around Bridget and rested her cheek against the top of Bridget’s head.   
  
"Better?" Bridget asked, running her fingers through Franky's dark, recently longer locks.   
  
Franky didn't answer, just took another deep breath and nodded once.   
  
"You're going to be fine today, you and Tess will have so much fun," Bridget said as she loosened the embrace, dropping her hands to the backs of Franky's arms.   
  
Franky sighed and scrunched her nose.   
  
It really did still scare the shit out of Franky how well Bridget could read her.   
  
She groaned.   
  
"I've never been alone with a kid before, Gidge. Like, ever. In my entire life. Doreen's kid in the fire was the first time I ever even held a fucking baby."   
  
"Yeah, and that turned out pretty well, if I remember correctly," Bridget smiled.   
  
Franky rolled her eyes. "Doesn't count."   
  
"Darling, you'll be fine. She's not breakable, yeah? She's your sister, and she's already set to have the best time just because she'll be with you."   
  
"I don't even know what to do with her, though. What do I talk to her about? What if she gets bored? What if she starts crying or some shit and wants dad?"   
  
Franky groaned again in frustration. She felt so fucking stupid for feeling terrified to be alone with her own sister. She had met up with her dad and Tess a handful of times now, and each time had gone fine. Better than fine, in fact. And she loved being with that little girl. She loved seeing her so carefree and happy. She loved the way that Tess looked at her, like a trusted adult- not a criminal. And it wasn't as hard as she thought it would be, to see her dad raising another little girl. Another daughter.   
  
But she was set to take Tess out for the first time, just the two of them, and she still didn't know the first thing about taking care of a child.   
  
Before she met Tess, Franky avoided kids like the plague. She couldn't afford to put her walls down, and Franky used to believe that it was safer for people as innocent as children to just stay as fuckin' far away from her as possible.   
  
Bridget broke through her reverie and took Franky's hand in her own.   
  
"You'll know what to do, Franky, you will. You're good with people- the best, in fact, and your little sister is no exception."   
  
Franky exhaled raspberries as she brought her hand up to fiddle with the kite dangling from her neck, a habit she had grown into over the last few months.   
  
"Just do something with her that you love to do, too, babe," Bridget offered.   
  
"And what in the world would—" Franky stopped mid-sentence as her fingers stilled against her necklace.   
  
Her green eyes widened and she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.   
  
"You're a genius, Gidget," Franky exclaimed, before she pecked Bridget on the cheek and grabbed her bag and keys off the table.   
  
Bridget furrowed her brow, amused. "Well thanks, babe but–,"   
  
"I'll explain later, Spunky, I gotta run to the store. I'll see ya tonight!" Franky yelled as she made her way hurriedly down the hallway and out the front door.

** 

"Okay, now run, Tess!"   
  
Tess followed the instruction, taking off across the sand with Franky right behind her. Franky waited until the wind caught just enough before she let go of the bridle point and let Tess take full reigns.   
  
Franky put her hand above her eyes, shielding the sun as she clapped.   
  
"Go, Tess!"   
  
Tess continued to run, her bare feet leaving tiny sized footprints trailing behind her.   
  
"I'm doing it, Franky!" Tess yelled. "I'm flying the kite!"   
  
"You’ve got it, babes!" Franky called, smiling so hard that her cheeks were starting to really fuckin’ hurt.   
  
She couldn't get over the sight in front of her. Her little sister, running across the beach, squealing from joy as her giant butterfly kite went higher and higher into the sky.   
  
Franky realized she might have went a bit overboard with Tess's kite; the thing was almost as tall as her and at least double the width, but she didn't care. It looked fuckin' awesome. The kite was in the shape of a Monarch butterfly and seemed to be filled with more colors than Franky even thought existed. The look of pure excitement and awe on Tess's face when Franky pulled it out the bag earlier was worth it in itself.   
  
"Okay Tess, I think it's high enough, you can turn around and run back to me," Franky yelled to her.   
  
"Okay, Franky!"   
  
Tess bounded back over with the giant, colorful butterfly soaring above her. The grin plastered on the little girl almost took up her entire face, and Franky felt a surge of pride course through her heart.   
  
That's my _sister_ , she thought, still amazed.

Once Tess settled next to Franky with a firm hold on her kite's handle, Franky took the second kite out of the bag, unwound the string, and got it up in the air in a matter of seconds.   
  
"Your kite is pretty, too, Franky," Tess beamed.   
  
"Why thank you, Miss. Tess," Franky winked.   
  
The kite Franky picked out to fly herself was simpler- the classic diamond shape with a long tail, mostly red with speckles of black along the corners.   
  
Fuck, Franky had missed this. She hadn't flown a kite since she was ten years old, but it felt like she never stopped. She forgot how much it calmed her, watching the fabric flap and soar in the wind. And even better, Tess seemed to be having the time of her life.   
  
Maybe she could do this. Maybe she could be a good sister to this little girl. Or at least, she could learn.   
  
"Franky?" Tess quipped, interrupting Franky’s trail of thoughts.   
  
"Yeah bub?"   
  
"What makes a kite fly?"   
  
Franky exhaled a rush of air and cocked her head.   
  
"Oh, lots of things. But, when there's enough wind, or when you run with your kite and make your own wind, like we did, the air under the kite gets really heavy, so it pushes the kite up into the sky. And the tail on the kite helps hold it in place all the way up in the air."   
  
Franky had no idea how well her explanation boded with the near four-year-old, but Tess seemed pleased enough with the answer.   
  
"Oh, cool!" she exclaimed, scrunching her nose and biting her lip as she studied the kites in the air.   
  
Franky almost had to do a double-take looking at Tess's little contorted, curious face. If she didn't know any better, she could have been staring at a version of herself from nearly thirty years ago.   
  
"Do you know who used to take me to fly kites when I was your age, Tess?" Franky asked.   
  
Tess shook her head. "Who?"   
  
"Dad."   
  
Tess's eyes went wide. "He did?"   
  
"Yup, he used to take me lots, to a beach just like this one, and we would fly our kites for hours, just like we're doing now."   
  
"Wow. That was a long time ago, because you're really old, Franky. I don't think daddy knows how to fly kites any more."   
  
Franky couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up in her chest.

"You're right, Tess, it was a long time ago, but ya know what? I bet dad still remembers a bit. But if not, maybe we could show him together." 

Tess's eyes lit up. "Yeah!"   
  
Franky tried to ignore the sudden bout of anxiety that surfaced at the thought of flying a kite again with her dad.

She could do this.   
  
"Franky, did your mummy like to fly kites too?"   
  
Franky cleared her throat to dispel the twinge in her chest, and looked back toward the kites in front of the horizon.   
  
"Nah, she didn't, bub."   
  
"Why not?" Tess asked innocently.   
  
Franky paused. "Um, my mum didn't really like to have a lot of fun, so this was just something I did with dad."   
  
"Oh, that's sad," Tess concluded simply.   
  
Luckily Tess didn't push further, because Franky honestly didn't know what else she would say.   
  
Tess was quiet for a moment before turning to look up at Franky.   
  
"I'm glad you like to have fun, Franky. You're the best sister ever, I think."   
  
Tess suddenly attached herself to Franky's leg in a hug, and it was all Franky could do to bend down and hug her back, as her eyes pooled with tears and the ever-present lump in the back of her throat resurfaced.   
  
**   
  
"Heya, Spunky," Franky called down the hall as she shut the front door behind her and tossed her keys on the table.   
  
"Hey, you, I'm in the kitchen!”  Bridget answered.   
  
It was then Franky registered that the house smelled peculiarly delicious.   
  
"Gidge, why does the house smell like my spaghetti?” Franky asked as she entered the kitchen, immediately greeted with the answer to her own question.   
  
Bridget just wagged her eyebrows twice at Franky from her place at the stove, where she was dishing out two bowls of penne in garlic vodka sauce.   
  
Franky's eyes went wide. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Bridget Westfall?"   
  
Bridget huffed in mock offense. "Franky Doyle, I'm capable of pouring some ready-made sauce and chicken on top of some pasta, thank you."   
  
Franky clicked her tongue and smirked as she made her way to Bridget. "Oh, I never doubted it."   
  
Franky put her hand on the back of Bridget's waist and leaned down to place a quick, but deep kiss on her lips.   
  
Bridget hummed when the kiss broke. "Your sauce was in the freezer, by the way."   
  
Franky furrowed her eyebrows. "Shit, really? Why the fuck did I put it in there?"   
  
"Hmm, don't know, you were probably distracted last night, that's all. Which, speaking of, how did everything go?"   
  
Franky smiled as she grabbed two wine glasses from the cabinet.   
  
"It was really good. Really, really good. Tess had a great time."   
  
Bridget mirrored Franky's elated expression. "I'm so glad, babe. What did you end up doing? Are you going to finally tell me why I'm such a genius?"   
  
Franky didn't answer, and instead pulled her phone out of her back pocket and swiped a few times before retrieving what she was looking for.   
  
She handed the phone the Bridget with a sly smile.   
  
Bridget’s eyes lit up at the image on the screen- a photo that Franky had snapped of herself and Tess with her front camera, the two Doyle girls squished close together and beaming behind their respective kites.   
  
"You'll have to come next time, yeah?" Franky inquired softly as she wrapped her arms around their familiar place along Bridget's waist.   
  
Bridget turned towards Franky and smiled as she ran her thumb lightly across Franky's cheek.   
  
"Wouldn't miss it, baby." 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky followed Bridget without a word into her office, her head and heart hung low, and she remembered a time when this office was the only room in this whole fucking place that brought her joy. (SET DURING 5X05)

All Franky could register was a steady, overbearing ringing in her ears and a pounding in her head.  
  
How did she get here?  
  
How the fuck did she get to this exact moment, trailing behind Bridget through the sterile, gray walls of this hellhole, on the way to her office, donned in teal again like it was some kind of fucking anti-cape that rendered her absolutely powerless?  
  
How did she get here, a point in time in which she so thoroughly and completely shattered the heart of the only woman she has ever loved, and who has ever loved her?  
  
And the worst part was that she couldn't seem to stop. She was on the runaway train of self-destruction.  
  
Again.  
  
But the difference was, this time, she wasn't the only one in her own path.  
  
Franky followed Bridget without a word into her office, her head and heart hung low, and she remembered a time when this office was the only room in this whole fucking place that brought her joy.  
  
As Bridget shut the door behind her, Franky forced herself look at Bridget. Really look at her.  
  
_Oh, her Gidget._  
  
She probably wasn't sleeping because although she looked fucking beautiful, as always, Franky could see the fine lines above her cheekbones and the glassy look in her eyes.  
  
Her entire body was rigid and Franky assumed that the tension she was carrying like a weight wasn't new. She probably was getting headaches again.  
  
Her lips were set tight, and any average person who saw her on the street would assume that the expression went hand-in-hand with the rest of the tension in her body, but Franky knew better. Bridget only pursed her lips that tight when she was trying not to cry.  
  
And then Franky had to look away; she couldn't take it.  
  
_She did this to her._  
  
All Franky wanted was to make it better. That's why she was doing all of this shit!  
  
But she wasn't making it better. She just kept making it worse- the Franky Doyle Train of Self-Destruction running full steam ahead.  
  
She wanted to tell Bridget how fucking sorry she was.

But she didn't apologize.  
  
Instead, she asked even more of the woman who had already given Franky her entire being.  
  
_"You're compromising me now, expecting me to cover for you."_  
  
_"So will you?"_  
  
How fucking dare she?  
  
Franky felt like her lungs were going to collapse. Her chest was tight and her vision was blurry, but she couldn't tell if that was from a lack of air or the tears shielding her eyes.  
  
She finally, _finally,_ choked out something real.  
  
_"I just wanna hold ya."_  
  
And it was the most honest, raw thing that came out of her mouth since she got here, but what did she want? A fucking medal?  
  
The woman standing in front of her deserved so much more.  
  
She couldn't bring herself to look at Bridget, and see herself reflected through those blue eyes that she was responsible for zapping the light out of.  
  
But then Bridget asked her to promise that these stunts were over, and she wanted Franky to look at her while she said it, like a real fucking human being.  
  
But Franky knew that if she looked at Bridget, she was done. She was standing in front of Bridget with her arms wrapped so tightly around herself; she was like a child, attempting, but miserly failing, to self-soothe. As if her arms would miraculously hold all the pieces of her insides together.  
  
It took everything she had to strain her gaze towards Bridget, and she somehow uttered a simple "I promise".  
  
But it was anything but fucking simple, wasn't it?  
  
And when she heard Bridget hitch her breath in a fruitless effort to choke back a gut-wrenching sob, Franky felt like she was going to vomit.  
  
Bridget covered her face and sobbed into her hand, and Franky just wanted to take her into her arms, but she didn't know if she could. She didn't deserve to hold this woman.  
  
_How the fuck did they get here?_  
  
Without warning, the nauseating feeling in her stomach lurched to her throat, and she dry-heaved into her hand once before running to the small trashcan next to Bridget's desk; she barely made it in time before she wretched into the barrel, the entire contents of her lunch coming back up.  
  
With her body doubled over, and the echoing, disdainful sound of her own heaving filling her ears, she barely registered the sobbing, soft "oh, Franky" behind her.  
  
And then she felt Bridget's shaking hands on her back and the loose hair around her face being tucked behind her ears, and she wretched again.  
  
This was all wrong. Bridget was the one who needed comforting right now, and Franky was so fucking sick with herself that she couldn't even do one goddamn thing right.  
  
Bridget continued to rub her back, kneeling down next to Franky as the echos of her own subsiding cries filled the room. Several minutes must have passed before Franky lifted her head and sat down on the floor with her back against the wall. She exhaled and shook her head, swiping at the bottoms of her eyelids.  
  
"Here," Bridget said as she knelt in front of her and licked the pad of her thumb before rubbing the last of the dark tear smudges away from Franky's eyes.  
  
Franky let out the slightest involuntary whimper. Bridget's hands on her skin felt so fucking good, like coming home, and for a split second, Franky forgot where they were.  
  
"I'm going to toss this," Bridget gestured to the trash barrel, before she stood up, bucket in hand, and left the room.  
  
Franky pulled her knees tight against her chest and leaned her head down over her arms, sighing.  
  
Just another fucking mess for Gidget to clean up.  
  
Bridget re-entered the office and sat down next to Franky, assuming a similar position.  
  
_Fucking say something_ , Franky berated herself.  
  
When she finally spoke, her voice was wavering and soaked in gravel.  
  
"Gidge, I'm-" Franky paused.  
  
What, what was she? Sorry? Sorry didn't even fucking skim the surface.  
  
But Bridget put her hand up and stopped her before Franky had a chance to figure out the words to match her feelings.  
  
"Stop, Franky," Bridget whispered.  
  
Bridget looked at her and nodded, with those open, beautiful blue eyes.  
  
Franky understood what she was saying.  
  
_I can't take it right now._  
  
_Not here, not yet._  
  
_Not when nothing is going to change. This situation is still just as fucked up, and will be just as fucked up when you leave this room._  
  
Franky nodded and leaned her head back against the wall as they sat in silence, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Bridget's hand inch towards her own on the floor, her palm open towards the ceiling.    
  
Franky took her hand and held on for dear life.  
  
Bridget didn't need a bullshit apology for things they could do nothing about right now. She needed to escape this hell just as much as Franky did. She wanted to be home just as much as Franky did.  
  
So Franky took her home. Even if it was only for a moment, even if it was just in their daydreams.  
  
"Close your eyes," Franky whispered.  
  
Bridget followed her instructions blindly.  
  
Franky followed suit as she rubbed the tops of Bridget's knuckles with the pad of her thumb, and she began to talk, about everything except where they were currently; all the little moments that Franky had been replaying in her mind on loop, every night since she got back to this hellhole.  
  
It was her escape, her comfort, and she wanted desperately to take Bridget there too.  
  
“Remember when you were talking in your sleep that one night, but I thought you were bloody awake, and you were spouting some shit about there being a spider in the bed?”  
  
“Or, when you tried to surprise me with dinner after my first day of work, but you burnt the chicken, and the smoke alarm was blaring when I came home? I fucking loved that chicken.”  
  
“Remember when you took my kite to the jeweler's to get the chain fixed after it snapped? But I don't think I ever told you, that I was a fucking idiot and didn't see the note you left, and I thought I lost it and scoured the house all day; I was so scared to tell you that I thought I lost it. But then you brought it back home with you, and I swear, I had never felt more relieved.”  
  
Bridget chuckled, the corners of her mouth turning up under her closed eyes.  
  
"No, you never told me that," she said, her voice low and soft, as if afraid to break through fragility of their temporary bubble.  
  
And then, after a beat, she added "You have it with you, don't you? Your kite."  
  
Franky opened her eyes. How did Bridget know that?  
  
It didn't matter. Of course she did.  
  
Franky exhaled and bit her lip, turning her head to steal a glance at the woman still holding her hand. Bridget's muscles were relaxed and a peaceful expression covered the features of her face, a sight that that Franky hadn't seen in months.  
  
Franky swore to herself in that moment, when she got out of here- and she fucking would get out of here- that she would never, ever, take this beautiful sight for granted again.  
  
"Yeah, I have it." Franky confirmed, closing her eyes again.  
  
_Please, just let this moment last for a minute longer_ , she pleaded with the universe.  
  
"I'm glad," Bridget breathed. "I'm so glad."  
  
And then, after another beat, Bridget squeezed Franky's hand.  
  
"Don't let it go. You promise me, don't lose it," Bridget's voice was so soft that Franky had to strain to hear her, but it was strong.  
  
"I won't," Franky promised.  
  
And she meant it. She fucking meant it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky Doyle is free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that it took me a while to get this last chapter out- thank you so much to everyone for the kind words and kudos on this story <3\. 
> 
> Many thanks again to Ash (AshleighSixx) for the awesome beta work!!

_On the shoulders of redemption_

_I found hope when hope was dead_

_I could lose it in a moment_

_So I dare not close my eyes_

_I'll watch fear fall with the sunset_

_And see hope rise with the tide_

  * “Moving Forward”, Colony House



 

When Franky Doyle was ten years old, she hid her sparkly red diamond kite under her bed, because she needed to keep it safe until her dad came home.  
  
But when she turned twelve, he still hadn't come back, so Franky ripped it up and threw it in the garbage.  
  
In the early morning hours of her sixteenth birthday, Franky Doyle snuck out of her seventh foster home placement, wearing her hardened resolve like a suit of armor. Never again would another person lay a filthy hand on her or make her feel weak. Never again would she naively, secretly hold out hope for broken promises. No one was coming for her. Not now, not ever.  
  
_Franky, I'll be back. I promise. And we'll go to the shops and getcha that big butterfly kite you want, yeah? And then we'll be able to fly kites at the beach anytime you want, bub. I promise._  
  
Yeah fucking right.  
  
So with the pinkish hue of the rising sun illuminating her path down the desolate streets of Melbourne, the foster home painted in shadows behind her, she had never felt more free.  
  
The next time she felt that free? When she opened her packet of parole papers (after nearly going down in flames, not for the first time in her life) and saw the small, silver, shining kite taped inside.  
  
A kite that was gifted from the very person who helped her see that she was worthy of the life she so desperately craved. A life without debts and shackles and bitterness and fear.  
  
Freedom, as it turned out, was a funny thing.  
  
So when Franky Doyle entered the gates of fucking hell _again_ , after _knowing_ with every ounce of her soul the person she could be, and what she was capable of, and how much she could _love_ , she did exactly what she did when she left that foster home fifteen years ago.  
  
She took a deep breath and donned her old, chipped, hardened, suit of armor. She knew she wouldn't survive any other way.  
  
But it felt different than before; It didn't fit her the same way as it used to. It was heavier, more cumbersome. Like an old hand-me-down that she outgrew.  
  
But she trudged on and carried the extra weight because she needed to. She had too fucking much to lose. It wasn't just her own heart she had to protect anymore.  
  
But unlike when she left that last foster home, or when she entered Wentworth the first time, she now had something to remind her of what she was fighting for.  
  
She was fighting for soft hands that held her at night, blue eyes that illuminated more love than she had ever seen in her life, and a laugh that was so infectious that her heart flipped every time she heard it.  She was fighting for spontaneous dance parties in the living room, and cooking big breakfasts on Sundays in her underwear, while swatting away impatient hands at the stove.  
  
She was fighting for those elusive, endless, sunny days on the beach, flying kites with the woman she loved, her little sister, and maybe, just maybe, her dad.  
  
She didn't just have hope that kind of freedom— _her_ freedom— existed.  
  
She _knew_ it did.  
  
So she held onto that silver kite with the red tail for dear fucking life.  
  
Until she didn't— because she started to have a little more faith in herself again all on her own, and someone else needed it much more than she did, anyway. She hoped it was helping Liz as much as it helped her.  
  
And then she did it, she couldn't believe it; she actually escaped. She got out of that fucking hellhole— in a box, no less— but not without help. No, she knew now that she couldn't succeed alone.  
  
Franky Doyle wasted no time in getting down to business, because she knew her clock was ticking faster than a time-bomb.

Except, of course, for one pit-stop.

 _"I love you. And I'll be back."_  
  
She needed the woman— the one who gave every ounce of herself to be with her, who loved her in ways that Franky had only recently understood and come to terms with— to know that Franky loved her back just as much, and that she would go to the ends of the earth to do the absolute same for this beautiful woman.  
  
And when she was bruised and battered and didn't think her exhausted legs and empty stomach could carry her any longer, she finally, _finally_ , won the fight. (She still replayed the judge's words in her head every fucking day: "Ms. Doyle, in light of the evidence presented, the homicide charge of one Mr. Michael Pennisi, is hereby dropped. The felony charge of completed escape from Wentworth Prison is rendered as time-served, as is the two months that were left on your original parole. You are free to go.")

But when Franky finally had the chance to redeem all of those things that she fought tooth and nail for, she hadn't been so sure she deserved them any more.  
  
She put the woman she loved more than anything through so much pain and suffering, and Franky wholeheartedly understood that the fight she had just won might not be enough to undo the damage; it didn't erase any of the pain, nor any of the wounds that Franky carved into that woman's heart.  
  
When she exited the courthouse that fateful day, there was no Porsche waiting for her. No hot girl with the brightest fucking smile she had ever seen. No kiss. Even the sun was absent from the sky.

Maybe there _would_ have been a gorgeous girl in a cute little Volkswagen, if she knew about Franky’s hearing that day. But Franky didn't tell her. The only thing worse than hearing a guilty verdict would have been to see the despair etched on that woman’s face, as she held her head up and told Franky it was going to be okay. She was always so fucking _strong_ ; Franky didn't want her to have to be.

But it wasn't a guilty verdict. She could walk out of those metal doors and no one would stop her.

So she walked. She walked to the only place she knew to go. The only place that she ever considered her home. 

And an hour later, when the handle of the large, wooden front door turned and swung open, Franky’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it was going to rip right out of her chest; she couldn’t breathe when her wide, green eyes locked with the blue ones she hadn’t seen since she made her promise.

_I’ll be back._

Well here she was; she _was_ back, and _physically_ free, but Franky knew that was only half of the battle.

She tried to speak, but no words came out, and those beautiful blue eyes were searching her, moving frantically over Franky’s body, as if they were checking to make sure every single piece of her was still the same as she knew them to be.

Franky shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say, _“It’s me, I promise...I’m here”_.

And then suddenly she was wrapped in Bridget’s arms, those strong, gentle arms that Franky missed so much. And she was pressed against her body, the warm, soft body that smelled like home.

Franky brought her hands up to the backs of Bridget’s shoulders, and then her neck, and then her hair, and she just kept moving, trying to touch every single part of Bridget that she could reach.  

Bridget’s arms stayed still, locked around Franky’s waist, clinging to her in a such a way that seemed like she thought that if she moved her hands even an inch, Franky might disappear.

When Bridget finally did shift her body, after Franky’s movements became less frantic, she took a deep, shaky breath, looked into Franky’s eyes, and choked out a simple _“Welcome home, baby.”_

Franky’s sharp intake of breath got caught on a sob, the first sound she made since leaving the courthouse, and she lifted her hands to cradle Bridget’s face, swiping her thumbs gently back and forth over her temples and then along her soft, tear-stained cheeks. She lowered her head down until their foreheads and noses were pressed together, and closed her eyes.

At some point during Franky’s walk to the house – no, her _home_ – the gray clouds grew sparser and eventually the sun had peeked its rays through the sky again. And as Franky felt the pink light and warmth from the setting sun hit the back of her neck, while standing on the fucking gorgeous porch she loved so much, holding onto Bridget Westfall so tightly that it was unclear where her own body ended and Bridget’s began, she felt free; more free than when she left the foster home, and even more free than when she saw her silver kite for the very first time.

She didn’t need anything to remind her of her worth anymore; and when she searched Bridget’s eyes after she lifted her head, she knew that Bridget understood that, too.  

With every ounce of strength she could muster, Franky strongly uttered the same two words she said to Bridget the last time they were standing in this very spot, in this very same position.

_“Thank you.”_

But this time, she added the phrase she wanted so desperately to say to Bridget then, but couldn’t.

Now, she wasn’t afraid.

_“I love you.”_

And Bridget smiled that beautiful, watery smile, and put her hand on the back of Franky’s neck to pull her down again. She kissed Franky with a soft, tender urgency, and Franky sighed into her mouth.

She was home. She was free. She was anchored safely and strongly to the ground, just like her old kite, and she was going to soar as high as the wind would take her...

Because she already knew that she could.


End file.
